


When We Collide

by LeafOfTrees



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arkham Asylum, Bruce saves Jerome, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Jerome Valeska Lives, Jerome falls hard., M/M, Mentions of blood/knives, References to Abuse, Season 4: That’s Entertainment, Sibling Rivalry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:54:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26974015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeafOfTrees/pseuds/LeafOfTrees
Summary: Season four: Jerome Lives!Jim is going to shoot him, he feels it in his bones. This is where he will die...again. He’s so sure of his fate he casts one quick, final glance to Gotham’s adored prince.Except it doesn’t quite happen, Bruce Wayne steps before Jerome Valeska, using himself as a human shield — it changes everything.—— Chapter Three——“Darlin’ your sorrow tastes almost as good as your anger.”he chuckles. His thumb glides over the shape of Bruce’s lips. “What did you come here for Baby doll?” Jerome peers questioningly at him and he hesitates, searching for the words to convey exactly what he needs.“I want...I want you to make me feel something, instead of nothing at all, I want you to make the pain go away.”he’s never been so brutally honest to anyone, not Alfred, not Selina, not even Jim Gordon. “I want to forget everything for just a little while.”his voice is hoarse as he lifts his eyes to meet the curious hazel gaze of Jerome.
Relationships: Jerome Valeska/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 20
Kudos: 96





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been working on this for a little while, I honestly wasn’t going to post it. Still not sure it’s good enough, but it’s sitting there, so I decided to just do it. The next part is half written so I might go back to.
> 
> This is my first time writing Jerome/Bruce. So I hope it’s okay.
> 
> Enjoy.

_When we collide we come together,_

_If we don't we'll always be apart._

_I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it._

_When you hit me, hit me hard._

_~~Many Of Horror, by Biffy Clyro_

  
  


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The bullet pierces his shoulder with a sharpness that’s knocks the breath from him, he dives for cover and aims a glare toward the terrified mayor, his frightened, watery eyes traveling to the detonator in his hand, he offers an unsettling smile and jams the button with dramatic flare—nothing happens, baffled, he tries again hitting every button with his palm. His face twists into a frown. Huh? looks like Gordon managed to block the signal to the detonator, he smiles despite how the situation has turned against him, with a final growl aimed at the mayor, who squeaks like a frightened animal causing laughter to bubble in his throat. He weighs his options, the blimp is steadily approaching — he can hear the Gothamites crying out as they point towards the sky.

More shots are fired, bullets zipping through the air as Firefly continues to block the way, Jerome casts his eyes around quickly, noting his spineless brother crawling out of the way, to safety. The crowd's screams become louder and more hysterical; he glances to the blimp - chuckles and jumps from the stage, through the crowd that parts like he’s a disease they might catch. He loves it, the thrill, the chaos it really gets his blood pumping.

The screaming, the crowd rushing to get to safety. Oh, it was marvellous, glorious pandemonium, he could get high just from this feeling, he chuckles dashing through the crowd, the blimp isn’t quite in position yet, just a little further and insanity will rain down. 

He scarpers from the square, ignoring the pain from his shoulder, as he flips open his phone and calls his Manix’s, ordering them to get into position, it’s almost time, just a few more minutes - he can almost taste the victory on his tongue. He swerves into one of the buildings overlooking the square and takes the stairs to the rooftop, after all - what's a show without an audience. He grins taking the steps two at a time.

He realises as he reaches the rooftop that Jim Gordon is probably hot on his tail by now but he sets himself in position at the edge of the rooftop, he spots the blimp steadily approaching when footsteps reach his ears, someone is coming up the stairs, Jerome casts his eyes down at the multitude of people running and screaming in panicked bursts, the GCPD are trying to evacuate the square and Jim Gordon is currently below, he frowns spinning around on the spot, if it wasn’t Gordon following his trail.

Then that must mean…

Through the laundry hanging on washlines Bruce Wayne comes into view, chest heaving his face set in grim determination, like a dark god ready to mete out punishment. Jerome titters at the edge of the rooftop, his arm is heavy, aching and he can still feel the blood seeping through his shirt and jacket. Just a little longer, a wicked grin lights up his face and he glances toward the blimp.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?”he flips open the phone in his hand, ready to call the pilot.

“Stop this Jerome, it’s over.”Bruce, ever a stick in the mud says creeping forward, his arms held up as if he were trying to tame a wild thing.

“Just give me a second, gotta call the pilot, tell him he’s in position.”he taps the speed dial and is surprised when Bruce tackles it from his grasp, it skitters across the rooftop, and Jerome jumps down from the ledge, throwing Bruce a pout and making a drive for the phone.

He’s not quite as quick as he would be, the pain and blood loss working against him, that’s what he tells himself because in the next moment Bruce knocks him off course, but he hears the pilots voice calling his name, he grins at Bruce, those dark pretty eyes of his are burning, not unlike that moment they shared in the mirror maze.

How mesmerising the billionaire boy had been as he held the jagged shard of glass over Jerome’s body, ready to strike at his throat as Jerome was pinned beneath him, face paint smudged. He shivers at the memory, Bruce had looked like a smouldering vengeful god. 

It’s enough to make a man dizzy. “Bombs away.” He laughs as Bruce’s fist lands a hit to his face, he grasps the brunette's upper arm as he loses balance and they fall in a heap to ground, both breathing heavily.

“Why are you doing this, Jerome?”The anger within Bruce Wayne is beatific, stunning and Jerome thinks he could get drunk on those burning eyes, dressed all in black as he was - with fire smouldering within his gaze...he’s sublime, gorgeous. Jerome blinks up as Bruce yanks him by the lapels of his jacket, grazing his head against the concrete, his teeth bared with his glorious rage.

“Why? Tell me, why?”

He laughs again, “because I wanted to.”it makes Bruce pause, still grasping his lapels. A strange look crosses over the dark features of Gotham’s prince. He doesn’t like the answer Jerome offers, but it’s true, he did it because he wanted to, he didn’t give a damn about rules and Gotham was his playground to do whatever he wanted. 

Bruce might be the prince of Gotham’s elite, but Jerome was Gotham’s prince of anarchy, of chaos, he doesn’t bend rules - he shatters them to dust. He’s a messiah, the boss and his followers loved him for it.

“You mean there was no reason, other than you wanted to?”he spits, voice filled with disgust. 

More footsteps thud across the rooftop, resounding around them, backup has arrived at last, Jerome spots Jim Gordon from the corner of his sight, Bruce hears his approach too and is momentarily distracted, presenting Jerome the perfect opportunity to flip their positions, drag Bruce to his feet and draw his gun, jamming it roughly against Bruce’s temple.

He could pull the trigger right now, squeeze it gently, the bullet puncturing Bruce’s delicate flesh before shattering bone, his precious blue blood splattering Jerome as he cradled his lifeless form, but a gun was so impersonal and after all their encounters Bruce Wayne’s death should be intimate, a knife, a slow steady sweep of his blade across his pretty pink neck. His hand positioned just right so he could feel the blood warming coating it.

“Sorry Brucie, but a guy’s gotta have a bargaining chip.”he slips his wounded arm around Bruce’s waist, pulling him closer, his body heat seeping through his bloodied jacket and shirt, is sends a thrill right through him, a very different feeling than he’s used to feeling when dealing with the prince of Gotham’s elite. The rapid beating of Bruce’s heartbeat can be felt against his chest. 

But Jerome doesn’t think it’s beating so wildly through fear. And he just can’t decide if Bruce Wayne should live or die, it was a dilemma for another day perhaps.

Jim Gordon rounds the corner where they are standing, waiting, his hold tightening on the gun, he gives the Captain of the GCPD a wide smile.

“Hiya Jimbo.”

“Let him go, Jerome, it’s over...your plan failed.”He trains his gun on Jerome, his expression filled with concern for Bruce, as if Jerome could hurt him now, not with the strange rush of warmth filling him as he pulls him closer. The scent of expressive shampoo - it has a hint of mint, fills his senses. Confusing him considering five minutes ago he was imagining the brunette’s death by His own blade.

He blinks as Jim’s words really sink in, Bruce had become such a distraction he hadn’t understood, his eyes lift to the sky, he frowns, the blimp has changed course - heading toward the river, he knew he couldn’t trust that rat Penguin, he must have betrayed them meaning Scarecrow and Jarvis had followed his instructions -stick him on the blimp, to give him a birds eye view, should such a betrayal accur. 

He should have factored in Penguin’s connection with Jim Gordon, a mistake he won’t be making again.

“Looks like you got me good, Jimbo.”he laughs, “it doesn’t matter.”he has other plans in the works after all, he smiles wondering if Baghead had made the delivery yet. He was going to set his brother free, while gaining his ultimate revenge on both Gotham and Jeremiah. 

He drags Bruce backward towards the edge, he’s surrounded now, more back up having arrived shortly after Jim’s arrival on the scene, his escape wasn’t looking likely, the only way he could spot without police blocking the way was below, he’d have to jump from the roof but he needed to find the perfect spot to jump from first. 

“What are you doing?”Bruce hisses quietly.

Gordon keeps his officers at bay, watching as he backs closer and closer to the edge, his options were freedom or death, freedom or death, it was a game of chance, he would either plummet, finding something to cushion the fall, find his way to freedom and live another day to create more chaos or he’ll fall, only to splatter on the hard concrete, staining the streets of Gotham with his blood as well as his legacy.

It didn’t matter really, whatever. He takes in a deep breath, rests his chin in the crook of Bruce’s neck. “It’s a game of chance Brucie, I’ll either fall and live or fall and die...it doesn't matter either way.”he shrugs, and Bruce hitches a breath.

“It matters...of course it matters, what…”Bruce swallows, “what happened in the diner, what you said — was it true?”Jerome splay’s his fingers on the brunette's stomach, his grip loosening, he expects Bruce to pull away immediately but he doesn’t.

He takes in a breath, “which part?”his fingers tremble as Bruce turns his head slightly causing Jerome’s lips to brush against his cheek accidentally, it warms his lips and he watches a patch of rosy pink blooms across Bruce’s skin.

“All of it, did they really do that to you?”there’s a crack in his whispered voice and it throws Jerome off balance, his mind whirls, he can feel the trembles trill through Bruce’s body.

“All the time.”he’d rather not think about it, his childhood, Jeremiah’s betrayal —his lie’s, he shuts his eyes, granted they were only children but Jeremiah could have come clean anytime, they were supposed to be bonded brom the moment life was given to them, to the time death came-a-knockin’, instead his brother, the other half of his blood, the one person who could...who should have been able to truly understand him, had turned his back on him.

Left him to rot, to be beaten black and blue, scalded, left in the freezing cold. He really should hate him completely and utterly, yet he didn’t hate him entirely, he couldn’t, they were two sides of the same coin, he loved him as much as he hated him. His breathing comes out in puffs just as his heart thunders in his ears, he tries to tamper the memories down, gain a semblance of control over himself.

“I’m sorry.”the quiet apology pulls him from the nightmare of his memory, he blinks, dumbfounded as to what Bruce could possibly be sorry about. As if the silence was clarification of the confusion ruling him Bruce continues. “That no one tried to help you, you didn’t deserve to be let down so wrongly.”

He’s actually speechless at the sudden change, the situation utterly confuses him, and he steps away from Bruce, staring at him as if he’d grown two heads, perhaps the blood loss was finally kicking in, first Bruce had barged into the diner and saved him, now he was apologising as if it were his fault that nobody chose to help him as a child. He doesn’t quite know what to do, so he laughs instead, a loud, roaring laugh that burns his throat and he backs further away. The gun shudders in his trembling hand.

Bruce spins around pining him with his eyes, watching him back away, those eyes, beautiful and dark shine with...sadness, anger, a swill of something else he can’t place. All sound, all sense of his surroundings fall away the moment he gets caught up in those eyes, he’s still laughing though, loud and proud and astounded all at once by the sudden turn of events, he must look like the maniac he is, _good,_ he thinks _better to be seen in character_ than showing the vulnerability flooding through him because of Bruce _fucking_ Wayne.

A noise brings him back to the situation at hand and he twists to face Jim Gordon, as the man raises his hand, aiming his gun at Jerome’s chest, just as Jerome’s firearm is trained on Jim Gordon.

A good old fashioned stand off.

But...

Jim is going to shoot him, he feels it in his bones. This is where he will die...again. He’s so sure of his fate he casts one quick, final glance to Gotham’s adored prince, notes the pinch of his brows, the look of determination filling his face, and wonders how he could have missed such beauty before now - Jim yells something he doesn’t hear or really care to hear either, but whatever he said has upset Bruce and suddenly Bruce is standing in front of Jerome, arms spread wide, blocking him from the GCPD.

A human shield between Gordon’s loaded gun and a lunatic killer. 

“Stop.”Bruce Wayne’s voice is cold, hard, the authority fierce and Jerome’s heart skips a beat, “it’s over, there’s no need to shoot him.” The gun slips from Jerome’s fingers as shock sets in, Bruce dives to retrieve it and holds it up for Jim and his buddies to see, “he’s unarmed.” He says sliding the gun across the space to settle at Jim’s feet.

“Step away from him Bruce, he’s still dangerous, even without a gun.”Jim shouts, eyes slipping to Jerome.

“I know and I will...once you assure me no harm will come to him, that you aren’t just going to shoot once I’ve stepped away.”Bruce scans the faces of Jim and his Officers, his mouth set in a grim line, Jerome can’t see his eyes— but he imagines they are aflame. His stomach does a funny flip, like hundreds of butterflies are taking flight. 

He's so confounded he’s fallen silent and can’t think of a single thing to say, Bruce Wayne has saved him again, but no, it was more than that wasn’t it, somehow, somewhere along the line Bruce had deemed him worthy of saving even after everything he’d done...worthy of using himself as a human shield. _What the fuck is wrong with Bruce Wayne?_ He thinks, his stare unblinking as he watches the boy billionaire demand Jim Gordon’s promise that Jerome will be arrested, unharmed.

He can’t bring himself to snark Bruce as he’s handcuffed, so instead he winks, throws him a grin full of mischief and says “until our next tango darlin’” he’s pulled along, passing Bruce who watches him with a hooded expression, he can’t quite read what going on inside that head of his.

But he speaks, his voice so quiet yet it still carries to Jerome’s ear, “yeah, until then.” He’s shoved roughly forward after that, down the stairs and out from the building, a crowd has gathered along the street, he grins and is greeted by the grins of his followers in return, as they stand mixed in amongst the Gothamite’s.

“Paint the town crazy.”he laughs harshly, a private message for his Maniax to raze the city and terrorise its inhabitants, he watches them slink away, knowing they’ll find him wherever the GCPD decide to detain him, they always find him, like moths to flame.

“Shut it.”snaps the officer forcing him roughly into the back of a police van, he’s pushed inside a detainment cage, it’s locked securely but they keep the main doors to the vans rear open, a group of officers standing guard. 

Ten minutes later he catches sight of Bruce Wayne and Jim Gordon, they seem to be having a heated exchange. Jim is speaking, but Jerome can’t hear what’s being said and whatever it is upsets Bruce, he feels his heart kick up when Bruce points towards the detainment vehicle. He would really like to know what Bruce was saying because moments later Jim walks away looking unhappy. And Bruce Wayne has never looked more attractive then he does right now, the realisation hits him like a brick to the head.

He watches avidly as Bruce ruffles his dark hair, his expression troubled, something catches Bruce’s attention though, his head tilts to one side slightly, if only Jerome was close enough to hear, he’d know what Bruce was saying or who he was calling as he walks away waving a hand. Jerome has to shuffle to the opposite end of his detainment cage to catch sight of Bruce again.

There’s a sudden, sharp stab in his chest when he spots Bruce talking and smiling at his brother, Jeremiah is looking at Bruce like he’s a holy fucking relic, his eyes hungrily drinking him in and...and Jerome doesn’t like it one bit, he’s never laid claim to anyone before, no one has ever... _ever,_ captured his interest enough but he should have known, if it was to be anyone...it would be Bruce Wayne, perhaps it explained his obsessive need to kill him, maybe he hadn’t really wanted to kill him at all, let’s face it, he would have done it already without the dramatics.

Instead he’d fantasied of ways to kill and torture the brunette, perhaps his fantasie would take a different turn from now on. 

He laughs again loudly throwing his head back, because it really is hilarious...all this time and the realisation suddenly dawns, Jerome...is into Bruce Wayne. The exchange ends between Bruce and Jeremiah with small smiles and a handshake before they part ways and the containment vehicle door is slammed shut. Shuttering his view of Gotham’s prince. He’s still chuckling to himself when he arrives at the GCPD station, he’s still chortling as he’s hauled into an interview room. 

Jim Gordon and his shabby looking partner enter the room a little while later, by now he’s fallen silent again, lost in thoughts and fantasies all pertaining to Bruce Wayne.

“In case you wanted an update, your plan failed Jerome, the toxin has been contained and is being disposed of.”Jim informs him ruining his train of thought, he shrugs, he doesn’t care anymore...so long as everything goes to plan where Jeremiah is concerned then it wasn’t all for nothing.

“Jervis Tetch and Johnathan Crane were working with you, where are they now?”

He shrugs again, “no idea Jimbo, up to mischief no doubt, makes me proud.”He smiles widely and pats the spot above his heart, Jim’s partner throws him a dark look and scowls. 

“Transportation back to Arkham will be arranged for the morning, until then you’ll be detained here under constant guard.”he pushes from his seat and makes to leave the room.

He doesn’t have it in him to throw an insult before they leave him alone with his thoughts, not that he minds when they revolve around a certain brunette, eyes aflame, his cheeks pretty pink, pressed up against Jerome.

He still can’t believe he likes Bruce Wayne.


	2. Growing On Me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jerome slips out of Arkham to pay his brother a visit, but find Bruce Wayne instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, finally finished this chapter. It ran away with me a little tbh, thank you to every last one of you that has read, given Kudos, bookmarked and subscribed. It’s because of you guys I got this part finished so quickly 💖 
> 
> So a few warnings for mentions of abuse, Jerome and Bruce’s first kiss got a little weird, sorry not sorry. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_ I can't get rid of you _

_ I don't know what to do _

_ I don't even know who is growing on who _

_ 'cause everywhere I go you're there _

_ You're really growing on me _

_ (or am I growing on you) _

_ — Growing On Me, by The Darkness. _

_ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ _

Arkham is as it always was; drab, dreary, forlorn with no personality sparking within its walls, even the residents seem abysmally depressed after being recaptured and incarcerated once again. But no matter Jerome would soon set the spark alight once more, he was optimistic that his Maniax were out there causing as much trouble for the city as possible and Jeremiah, he wondered if his dear, snakey brother had found the package yet...had he opened it? 

He was sure he’d hear news soon, he had followers all over the city and a grapevine of information at his fingertips. Arkham is riddled with his Maniax too, inmates and staff members alike, he tucks his arms under his head, it’s a more comfortable pillow than the lumpy thing provided, his eyes close and his thoughts once again drift to Bruce Wayne.

He thinks back on every encounter with the boy billionaire, three stick predominantly at the forefront of his mind though; the mirror maze, when Bruce had been moments away...sweet delicious moments away from skewering him with that shard of broken glass, 

He wished he’d been able to keep it, as a momento. Everything about that moment sparked heat within him, Bruce’s eyes flaming intensely with a wild rage, the way his breathing accelerated, the weight of Bruce’s form pining him to floor, Jerome’s heart rate kicks up again as he recalls the smudged face paint and blood and Bruce’s roar of fury, the astonishment filtering his face when he realised what he was about to do.

Bruce Wayne has so much rage locked away within him...but, and Jerome was certain of this, he wasn’t a killer. Oh, the potential was there and the temptation gnawed at him to placate the brunette, to draw out his bittersweet darkness. But he realised Bruce may reach the boiling point but he’d never kill if he could help it. Bruce Wayne has too much light and goodness within him, too much compassion and kindness. 

Moreover the more he swelled on it the more Jerome finds he doesn’t mind that at all, because without that light, or that goodness, Bruce might not have stood up for him at the diner or positioned himself as a human shield against Jim Gordon’s gun, he might have a great chasm of darkness just beneath the surface but ultimately his light always, always won out. Normally Jerome would scoff at such a thing but Bruce Wayne was goodness.

He recalls the feeling of Bruce pulled tight against his chest, heart thrumming like a wild thing, Bruce Wayne’s heat seeping into him, the scent of his expensive minty shampoo, Jerome thinks of how when his grip on the Gotham prince had slackened Bruce didn’t pull away from him, he frowns, perhaps he was looking at this all wrong in thinking there wasn’t something very wrong with Bruce at all, as he’d first thought back at his uncle's diner. 

Instead, maybe there was something exactly right with the billionaire boy. He was shaped from a different mould, carved out with perfect precision by a different Deity. He snorts amused by the turn of his thoughts. Jerome wasn’t religious, he didn’t follow any beliefs or code, he wasn’t the praying type, had no faith in a higher power really, how could he? When his childhood suffering would surely have come to an end if such a benevolent being existed. 

He stares up at the ceiling. The guard standing beyond his cell door coughs, a forced, fake sound to garner Jerome’s attention, he glances through the open hatch and raises a brow, the man is staring at him.

Quite intently.

“What you lookin’ at?”The man’s face is perfectly blank as he stares, Jerome sits up, his interest piqued and really looks at him - a wide smile stretching across his face.

“Oh-ho, you have a message for me?”

The man nods stiffly, under the control of Jervis Tetch he waddles forward to the little opening, “the gift laid out on the table's bed ready to get inside dearc brother's head.”He claps his hands, bouncing on the balls of his feet and laughs with delight.

“Oh,goodie.”

The guard makes a move to unlock the cell door but Jerome stops him, “not yet, I want to let it play out a while.” He had little purpose to escape right now, no, Jerome wanted to see how Jeremiah would react to the insanity spray, what he would do...what he would blossom into, would it bring out the devious, fork tongued snake that Jerome knew him to be? 

And perhaps killing his dear old broski could be put on hold for a time. The more Jerome thought about it - the more it made sense because ruining Jeremiah’s perfect image would surely be more devastating to his brother, everything he lied, worked and strived for shattering to dust, his dreams and aspirations in cinders. Surely that would be a revenge perfectly executed.

He didn’t know if Jeremiah would fight the toxin, maybe he would and maybe he wouldn’t, it was now simply a waiting game for Jerome - which was fine by him, he had plenty of time to relax before the big show and if Jeremiah was the same as he ever was; he will plot and plan meticulously down to the very last, minute detail.

To add fuel to the fire Jerome had asked for his diary to be slipped in amongst Jeremiah’s desk, with every single outline, of every single idea and fantasy he’s ever had because he knows Jeremiah won’t be able to resist outdoing him, it was why he lied his way out of the circus, he thought he was better than Jerome, than the humdrum of circus life, and perhaps he was Jeremiah had certainly made a name for himself in the world of engineering, even if it wasn’t his true name. 

It was a waiting game but Jerome is a patient man.

****

Bruce couldn’t explain why he did what he did that day on the rooftop, not to Jim Gordon, not to Alfred and especially not to Selina —who was acting as if he’d lost his mind— all he knew was when he walked into that diner, he’d witnessed such a terrible scene—something deep inside his chest had snapped and several things had clicked into place about Jerome Valeska.

A madman certainly, dangerous and a silver tongued devil — able to rally an army of followers with mere words alone, but he was also a victim. What horrors had he faced during his childhood? Why hadn’t anyone stepped in? Because maybe if they had, just maybe Jerome Valeska would have a very different, stable, happier life. Bruce had been one of the lucky ones to have two loving parents willing and wanting to do everything to protect and love him, then Alfred had taken up that mantle after his parents were murdered.

He’d never been made to feel alone, unloved or unwanted. 

He never disclosed what he saw that day; Jerome being held down, scalding hot liquid poured into his mouth, down his neck, over his chest, the blistering of his lips was an image burned into Bruce's memory. No one, not even someone like Jerome Valeska deserved to be treated like that. And Bruce’s heart had broken at the sight, piece by splintering piece seeing the vulnerability shining within the redheads eyes.

_ “You know, with uncle Zack the beatings just never stopped. They went on and on yet, nobody ever helped me. Ever.” _

_ Ever. _

Those words struck Bruce’s like a whip, scarring in his mind and coupled with what he’d witnessed stirred something within his chest, he saw Jerome in a new light. Perhaps that explained why he’d jumped between Jim and Jerome on the rooftop that day, he didn’t regret his choice at all even in the hours, days, weeks following when everyone he knew questioned and questioned him, he didn’t reveal what he knew.

It wasn’t his story to tell but not only that, he realised it wouldn’t matter what they knew of Jerome’s past, they would still have preferred he was taken down in a hail of bullets.

He refused to defend his own decision, such choices were, after all, his own to make.

The weeks passed by and he approached Jeremiah with funding for his generator design, the more time he spent around Jerome’s twin —the exact opposite; quieter, softer, controlled— the more a compulsion grew within him to visit Jerome in Arkham.

He resisted, not completely certain Jerome would agree to see him anyway, but unsure of what he would actually say to him, so he spent more time with Jeremiah, the project was a perfect distraction from the spiralling thoughts clogging his mind but it didn’t quell the burning itch, ever nagging him, urging Bruce to see Jerome again.

His thoughts were becoming so consumed with Jerome it was difficult to concentrate and spending more time at the bunker only served to remind him of his whirlwind of thoughts, he found himself thinking about Jerome accidentally brushing his lips against Bruce’s cheek, the feel of his arm wound across his waist. His fingers splayed against his stomach.The gruffness of his voice speaking against Bruce’s ear, the feelings such memories stirred within his chest confounded him.

“Bruce, are you alright?”Jeremiah’s clam voice breaks him from his reverie, he lifts his head up from the blueprint he’d been staring at, but not really seeing. 

“I’m just very tired this evening, I apologise, but I think I need to go home and get some rest.”he offers a small smile, rising from his seat.

“Of course, yes, of course you should go home and rest Bruce. Thank you for coming over,”he feels bad for the lie, but he just can’t be around him right now, not with the rawness of his thoughts centered on his brother. He’ll bring dinner next time he visits as an apology.

He leaves the bunker feeling hollow and guilty, he walks through the darkness toward his car in a daze, ignoring his surroundings without pause to admire the beautiful moon cresting in the inky sky.

“Gettin’ awfully cosy with Jeremiah, are ya Brucie?”a shiver runs through him at the sound of his voice, he has to blink a few times to clear his head before he feels the presence at his back and knows, knows, knows this isn’t one of his ridiculous daydreams.

Jerome Valeska is standing behind him, leaning against a tree with a grin and a wink as Bruce turns to face him, his heart thudding against his ribs.

****

Jerome is thankful he’s so influential that he’s gained masses of followers from all walks of life, it makes it so very easy to slip from the confines of Arkham asylum late into the evening a month after he’d been incarcerated. Among the team of doctors, nurses and security personnel at least half were loyal followers, so it was a simple feat to slip away from the drab, forlorn building. The cameras having been placed on a loop. He donned a nondescript jacket and hat to avoid drawing unwanted attention and slipped out into the shadows of Gotham’s streets.

Because tonight’s excursion wasn’t about drawing attention to himself or putting on a show, no, tonight Jerome had finally bitten the bullet and was venturing to see his brother dearest, after laying awake for many nights thinking about Jeremiah, wondering if the one bad day, one bad spray plot he’d mapped out so meticulously had actually worked.

He’d expected to hear something by now and yet, nothing exciting or grand had transpired as of yet, it made a guy wonder what Jeremiah was up to.

It doesn’t take him very long to reach the surrounding woodland of his brothers little hideaway, Jerome rolls his eyes at his brothers cowardice, hiding himself away in an underground bunker the middle of nowhere — talk about paranoia— it gave him pause to wonder how often the thought of Jerome hunting him down had haunted Jeremiah over the years.

He hopes it was every single day that they’d been apart.

Jerome finds a perfect spot concealed between the trees and overgrown underbrush, the bunkers entrance is in his direct line of sight, there’s a sleek black car parked a little aways but nobody seems to be inside, he’d checked, so he’d hung back realising Jeremiah might have company — it would do him no good to be caught outside of Arkham’s walls by some unknown, it would only lead to questions and restaffing the asylum.

The faint glow of moonlight peeks through the canopy, illuminating the entrance as the door opens. And Jerome’s attention instantly zeros in on Bruce Wayne’s form as he steps out into the night, his stomach flutters and his heart kicks up again, it was happening a lot lately when it came to thinking about Bruce Wayne or seeing him in the flesh too, it seems.

He licks his dry lips, keen eyes trailing the billionaire boy’s path to the sleek black car.

“Well, hello beautiful.”He whispers, his face breaking out into a smile, Jeremiah could wait a little longer because all thoughts of his brother fly away from his mind as he follows Bruce’s trail in the shadows.

As silently as possible, considering all the fallen dried up leaves littering the ground, Jerome creeps through shadow closer, closer, closer to Bruce’s dark outline, wreathed in black clothing he blends easily into the inky night. 

He thinks of witty greetings as he watches Bruce search his pockets for his key, he thinks of many things he could say to strike up conversation, to alert Bruce to his presence but what comes out tastes bitter in his tongue.

“Gettin’ awfully cosy with Jeremiah, are ya Brucie?”he won’t deny being slightly envious that his twin got to talk with, spend time with Bruce before Jerome. 

Bruce Wayne flinches but doesn’t jump in surprise, he was made of tougher stuff, his composure usually so perfectly collected, able to mask his innermost thoughts or feelings, one of many things Jerome had begun to catalogue about Bruce Wayne. 

The brunette spins on the spot to face Jerome, his face perfectly blank though his eyes betray him in this instance, widening ever so slightly. Jerome grins and winks as he leans against the nearest tree trunk. “Hiya Brucie, miss me?”

“Jerome.”his expression darkens, “you escaped from Arkham again I see...why am I not surprised.”  _ Why indeed _ ? The redhead thought to himself in amusement, Gotham’s prince showed not a hint of fear, in fact he appeared more resigned as if he’d been expecting something like this to happen.

Jerome offers a carefree shrug, “ah, you know places to go...people to see.” He takes a quick bow and moves closer bracing his arm against another tree trunk, sandwiching Bruce in the middle.

Jerome finds he likes being close enough to Bruce to smell that divine scent of minty shampoo. Their breaths intermingle, Bruce simply stares at him frozen in place, confusion clouding his dark eyes, “how ya bin, Brucie?”he’s purposefully invading his personal space.

And thoroughly enjoying every sweet second of it.

Dark eyes pin him with a glare, he frowns at him then glares and frowns again, it’s utterly adorable “just get in the car Jerome, before you’re noticed.”  _ Oh, _ amusement blooms within him at the stiff, stern order, and normally he would have declined but he wanted some time to speak with Bruce Wayne, time to figure him out, without pesky interruptions.

“Just this once, baby doll.”he draws closer, eyes capturing Bruce’s beautiful gaze, and bless him, he stands rigid, stubbornly refusing to break eye contact. Jerome momentarily loses himself within those glimmering pools, he could happily admit those dark orbs were one of his favourite things about Bruce, he could stare into them for hours, tying to read what lingers in the depths, what secrets they might reveal about the boy before him, he smirks sidestepping around Bruce, his hand— accidentally on purpose— brushes against the brunettes arm before he passes, opens the car door and slips inside the sleek, expensive car the leather seat groaning under him. 

“Nice ride.”he whistles as Bruce slides in the driver's seat. “Sleek, expensive, real leather, the works...a guy's wet dream.”

There’s a long suffering sigh before Bruce starts the car and pulls away from Jeremiah’s bunker, Jerome glances behind, just once with a silent promise of a reunion with his brother at a later date.

“Did you come here to torment him?” Jerome doesn’t need to ask who Bruce is referring to. He won’t deny it, so he shrugs and says nothing, Bruce nods slowly, chewing on his bottom lip — Jerome finds the act fascinating and files the action to memory— silence lays heavy, thick coiling in the space between them, Bruce appears deep in thought, it offers the perfect opportunity for Jerome to take in details he hadn’t noticed before.

Like how he chews his bottom lip when deep in though. Jerome biting that bottom lip of his either, if he were being honest. 

“Soo,”he draws out the word, “how ya bin?”repeating his question from minutes ago. A small laugh bursts forth from Bruce’s lips, Jerome stares, raising an eyebrow. Bruce Wayne was a serious person, he was moody, stubborn, determined, controlled beyond measure and Jerome had never heard him laugh before—it was...nice, soft. It caused a small crease around his eyes, Jerome might very well need to slap himself soon, to snap himself from his daze—he’s still staring when Bruce throws him a strange look.

“Wow-O-wow, Bruce Wayne actually laughed.”Jerome slips his hands behind his neck, “what’s so funny?”

He shakes his head, “everything...this...whole situation, me saving you, especially that. Everyone thinks I’ve lost my mind.”he indicates and turns onto the city streets, “and before you ask, no, I don't know why I did it —everything you’ve done— everyone tells me I should have let them shoot you.” He releases a breath, intakes another deep one and glances at Jerome suspiciously, “what? Nothing to say, you’re not usually this quiet.”

No, he wasn’t but Bruce Wayne seemed talented in the art of silencing Jerome, honestly this was the first time he’d heard Bruce speak more than clipped sentences or obstinate refusals or bitter retorts. 

The first time Bruce has spoken to him as another person of consequence, at least that’s how it feels to Jerome.

“That sounds an awful lot like regret.”Jerome says, desperately hoping that Bruce would deny, deny, deny feeling any regret for his decision to save Jerome on the roof that day — he wanted to believe the notion he’d dreamed up in his fantasies, that Bruce truly thought he was worth saving, he secretly hoped it wasn’t just because Bruce thought it was the ‘right’ thing to do, but he could take it, if that was the case. 

Bruce clears his throat and Jerome swears, under the orange glare of the street lamps flashing past, he’s sure he sees a smidgeon of pink dusting those high cheeks. 

“I don’t regret it.”he confesses after a long stretch of silence. “I don’t exactly understand why I did it, but I don’t regret it.” There’s butterflies in Jerome’s stomach again.

It’s happening way too often.

“Bruce Wayne, my saviour times two.” He fake swoons causing Bruce to roll his eyes, how easy it was between them, considering Jerome had tried to kill Bruce multiple times, Bruce seemed strangely at ease, definitely something right about him, Jerome thinks wistfully. 

“Very amusing,”Bruce scowls, taking another turn, he recognises the area, they are heading back towards Arkham. “I’m taking you back to Arkham, how did you actually get out?”

His smile widens, “if I told ya, I’d have to kill ya Brucie.”he laughs.

“No, somehow I don’t think you would,” he’s right of course, but Jerome won’t admit it, Bruce pulls over a short distance away from the forlorn building that is Arkham Asylum. The brunette turns to face him only to stiffen at the sight of Jerome’s knife hovering far too close. 

“Are you so sure about that?”Jerome whispers, slipping the blade against that pretty pink, exposed neck. Dark eyes meet Jerome’s, Bruce shows nothing of the thoughts that must be whirling inside his head, he adds more force grazing the faint scar from their encounter at the gala, so long ago now. 

Dark eyes burn into him, “I’m sure.” Bruce’s voice is steady, his resolve unshakeable. Jerome closes the small space between them as the knife cuts a little deeper into Bruce’s skin, a thin line of blood beads from the scratch.

Jerome inches closer so they share breaths, Bruce’s breathing has accelerated if Jerome was to place a hand against his chest he’s sure he’d feel the rapid beats of his heart, he recalls when his lips ghosted across those beautiful pink cheeks and he wants...he wants, he really wants to kiss Bruce Wayne. The impulse is so incredibly strong.

“You’re right Brucie, I don’t want to kill you…”he breaths, sealing the space between them by pressing his lips to the incredibly soft, sculptured lips of Gotham’s prince, the kiss is chaste, sweet almost...Bruce tastes like sweetened coffee, Jerome’s heart is thudding like a war drum because even though he was surprised in the first few seconds, Bruce hasn’t pushed him away, Bruce hasn’t pulled away either. Jerome skims his tongue over Bruce’s bottom lip and sighs when his mouth parts, slowly, slowly Bruce melts into the kiss and opens up to Jerome.

There are simply no words that could aptly describe how kissing Bruce makes him feel, a heady eclectic current travels his spine, it feels exhilarating, intoxicating, it feels right. They fit together perfectly. He was becoming drunk from kissing the brunette. Jerome’s rising groan is swallowed as Bruce deepens the kiss, leaning into him, forgetting the blade at his throat the brunette hisses as it bites deeper into his flesh but he doesn’t pull away to Jerome’s utter delight. Heat blossoms to life as their tongues caress in a tentative dance, getting to know the feel of one another.

All too soon Jerome pulls back, eyes scanning the shallow wound on Bruce’s neck, he wipes the thin layer of blood with the pad of his thumb, his eyes drinking in the image of Bruce’s full lips, red, swollen, Bruce hitches a breath, his cheeks gloriously pink and Jerome leans in to steal one more kiss, committing every detail of this moment to memory. He was becoming far too sentimental where Bruce Wayne was concerned. Jerome pulls away lifting the knife to his lips—Bruce’s dark eyes blazing with heat follow the action as Jerome swipes his tongue against the blade coated in Bruce blood and slides his tongue over it, he thinks Bruce might have ceased breathing as he throws him a grin and exits the car.

“It’s been a blast, Darlin’, until next time.”he winks and walks away from a stunned, breathless and extremely dishevelled Bruce Wayne staring after him with a chuckle. 

Jerome slips back into Arkham with a spring in his step,a wide smile on his face and the taste of Bruce in his lips, on his tongue.

Bruce stares in stunned silence touching a finger to his lips.

******

Bruce is lying awake in the dead of night, he can’t sleep, his mind simply won’t shut off, he keeps replaying the encounter with Jerome mere hours ago on repeat. Tracing the feel of Jerome’s phantom lips brushing against his own, he’d enjoyed the kiss, a little too much, a little more than even his kisses with Selina, Bruce groans into his pillow, confused. He’d certainly enjoyed the feel of being pressed against Jerome on the rooftop, and the kiss had both stunned and electrified him simultaneously. 

And loathe as he was to admit such a thing allowed, watching Jerome lick his blood from the blade of his knife had caused his body to tingle, there was something so, so, so wrong with him for enjoying that.

In short Bruce Wayne realised three things before finally drifting off to sleep. 

One, for some reason he couldn’t fathom, though he suspected it may well be because he was losing his mind, he liked Jerome Valeska.

Two, there was no way in hell he could face Jeremiah Valeska tomorrow without revisiting the memory of kissing Jerome and feeling extremely awkward. 

And finally,

Three, Bruce really, truly, absolutely needed to get his head examined. Especially, in view of the fact that he liked kissing Jerome, really, really liked it. Bruce was screwed because it also appeared Jerome liked him in return.

And Bruce knew what Jerome was like, how obsessive, how persistent he could be when he wanted to kill you.

So what the hell would he be like when he liked and didn’t want to kill Bruce?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce suffers yet another betrayal that pushes him into the arms of Jerome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for all the views, Kudos, bookmarks and Subscriptions.
> 
> So I’m spent after working on this chapter for a whole week, writing, rewriting and constantly tweaking. I’m done in now.
> 
> I’m having to up the rating to M for this one. I also apologise in advance for any error you may find. 
> 
> Warning: contains a few racy scenes, nothing overly explicit. Mention of abuse, drinking, angst heavy in places with a little fluff at the end.
> 
> Enjoy!

  
  


_ I'm taking back what was lost _

_ And I will not be denied _

_ I'm crawling my way, _

_ To the surface outside _

_ Now I'm burning alive, _

_ Just like you _

_ Now I'm burning alive, _

_ Just like you _

_ — Lie, Black lie burns. _

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He’s soaking in the warmth his own body pressed against a firm chest, a knife is at his throat digging deeper, deeper, deeper into his exposed skin...its not exactly painful, more a heady mixture of pleasure/pain and the worst part, is that he likes it, he likes every feeling being pulled to the surface as his body moulds against the one at his back, warm breath fanning his earlobe leaving his dizzy and breathless and wanting.

The steady beat of his heart kicks up a notch, knocking against his ribs, his breath hitches as a palm is splayed across his abdomen causing a molten warmth to rush through his entire being, a small sound issues from his throat meeting the approval of the person at his back.

Unable to resist he twists himself around until they are chest to chest, their breaths accelerating as dark eyes meet hazel and Jerome’s lips twist into a wide grin, his eyes gleaming, pupils blown.

He lifts a tentative hand to trace the scars on Jerome’s face, his skin beneath is smooth, the scars raised against his fingertips, his touch is gentle, exploring and Jerome’s eyes flutter as he hums, the sound vibrating against Bruce’s chest, he trails a pale finger across his jawline moving upwards along the scaring, before trailing back down, tracing his lips to each edge of his extended smile, Jerome shudders under his exploration, turning his head, lips parting, drawing Bruce’s fingertips into his mouth, causing them both to gasp at the sensation.

“You’re gorgeous darlin’.”Jerome breaths against his lips as he leans in to steal a kiss. It’s sweet, rough and wet as they become more fevered— the heat between them pulsing in the air leaving both, bereft of air as they break apart, eyes blown with desire. Jerome’s fingers tangle in Bruce’s hair, causing tingles to run down his spine and an embarrassing mew to escape his throat. His cheeks burn in response, with both want and embarrassment.

His dark eyes rove over Jerome’s face, tracing each scar line before he lowers his lips and peppers each scar with a gentle kiss, Jerome is beautiful to Bruce, his kisses move lower over his jawline and down across the scars on his neck, the scars Theo Galavan left when he struck Jerome with his knife. Jerome’s hands rest heavy on his hips, his fingernails biting the skin there, drawing a hiss from between Bruce’s teeth. 

“You’re beautiful.”Bruce whispers into Jerome's ear, his teeth tugging on his earlobe. Jerome pulls him roughly, claiming his lips again in a heated, hurried kiss that leaves them both groaning, hot and riled.

Hazel eyes rover over Bruce’s face, the look is burning, intense and slightly wicked as his lips tilt into a smirk and he says, voice husky “if I asked, would you be mine?”

***

Bruce jolts awake panting for breath, his body shivers at the memory of heated kisses and touches and husky whispers and the lingering hedonism as the dream fades and consciousness seeps in. He can still feel the ghost of Jerome’s lips on his skin and he lifts trembling fingers to his lips. The tremulous feelings the dream sparked within him begin to fade, then diminish completely leaving him hollow, cold and terribly alone. 

He wants to feel that again after feeling so numb, so cold, for so, so long...so lonely and so, so sad that even trying to conquer his fears, trying to push himself past his limits and pain tolerances and stalking the night and fighting criminals had been a temporary crutch filling his emptiness for a time. 

But now,

It wasn’t enough, now he craved something equally as dangerous, equally as thrilling, in the shape of Jerome Valeska. He should be repulsed, disgusted and ashamed that he could find solace, find comfort in the presence of a madman. It wasn’t normal to feel alive when a man held a knife to his throat, his body flush against his own - his breath tickling his neck. It was so, so wrong to want a man who’d killed so many and tried to kill Bruce numerous times.

Bruce realises the incident at Jerome’s uncle's diner changed things, and what happened at the rooftop twisted everything further. He recalls the kiss in his car, the knife digging into his skin and the heat pooling in his belly, the rapidity of his heartbeat. Bruce closes his eyes fisting the blankets pooled around him. 

He thinks for a brief moment that maybe Jerome Valeska was his new addiction because his thoughts consistently spiral back to the yearning need to seek him out, and he might, the reliance he’s clung to for the last few weeks was frail and cracking.

He might just break his own rules and take a trip to Arkham asylum, not today though, today he was meeting Selina and he hadn’t seen her in so long, he wanted to see her, her company would be a nice reprieve from his obsessing thoughts.

****

Bruce knew pain, the pain of losing the people he loved most. He lived with that pain everyday following that moment in the alleyway, he’d been too frightened to continue watching the show—he asked to leave, his parents’ never asked him why, they knew, of course they did, but it didn’t matter to them, anything for Bruce’s happiness and comfort. Bruce knew pain, insurmountable world shattering pain like nothing he’d ever felt before when the gunshots sounded, ringing so very loud in his ears, deafening. He knew true anguish when the lifeless bodies of his parents thudded to ground, such a sickening sound far, far, far more jarring than the gunshots ever had been.

He could never forget the thumping of his parents bodies hitting the hard, cold cement, he would never, ever forget the sight of their lifeless bodies, their blood pooling at his feet, the feelings of terror, or heart wrenching sorrow.

That day Bruce was reborn, his agony transforming to anger, to hate, to a new loneliness, a world of broken promises and betrayals. That day something dark, insidious was born and with each lick of fresh pain, each striking new betrayal, each splintering broken promise it grew and grew until he didn’t understand exactly who he was anymore.

He felt it slumbering just beneath the surface, even now. Especially now, when only a few short hours ago, Selina, who he’d thought was a friend, who he’d come to depend on, had led him blindly into a trap to resurrect a figure from his past. So here he sat, in darkness, in loneliness clutching at a bottle of champagne wallowing in his sorrows.

Grasping for anything to fill the void within him.

It really was pitiful.

He should do something, anything but sit here drinking away his issues, he should be raging right now that Ra’s al Ghul would yet again become his problem to deal with, now he was resurrected. But really, all Bruce could bring himself to do was lift the bottle to his lips, again and again forgoing even using a glass...he needed a distraction or else he worried he might drown in the bottomless pit of bitterness, of self loathing and he might not resurface this time around.

He’d quite possibly had far too much to drink already, his head was fuzzy and his movements clumsy, he was certainly buzzed enough that his inhibitions had been tossed aside as he stood across from the imposing, drab building that was Arkham Asylum. 

He’s been standing staring at the building’s exterior for so long, that his eyes are beginning to water.

He really shouldn’t go in, to do so would send a message to everyone who already seemed concerned about his mentality, when it came to his involvement with Jerome Valeska, but Bruce knew his own mind, knew what he wanted, knew beyond those dark wrought iron gates resided the one person in the world capable of filling the hollow within him.

And he couldn’t, wouldn’t turn back. Determination flooding his veins, he moves forward crossing the street, he’d called ahead a few hours ago but he can’t remember the name of the bland receptionist he’d spoken with only that she’d been surprised someone was visiting Jerome Valeska— it caused his heart to ache again, understanding no one had cared enough in all the time he’d been incarcerated, to pay him a visit, there was little wonder he was so messed up.

He stops before the security booth waiting for the guard to notice him, his phone is buzzing in his jacket pocket but he ignores it, nothing is going to distract him from what he needs right now, he’s doing this selfishly and why shouldn’t he? He gives and gives and gives too much of himself to everything and everyone, leaving little room to fulfill his own needs.

“Can I help you?”

Bruce blinks turning to the guard peering down at him, “I’m expected,”he says, his voice slightly thick, slightly slurred.

The guard squints at him, “name?”he lifts a clipboard up from his desk, a list of names, Bruce realises, people authorised to enter the grounds.

“Bruce Wayne.” His phone is buzzing again and his fingers twitch towards his pocket until the guard nods and mentions for him to go on ahead, he moves forward, his stomach churning.

The buzzing of his phone, forgotten.

He waits with bated breath as the gates slowly swing open, each step he takes feels lighter than the last, his pulse quickens, his stomach twists with restlessness and fluttery excitement—because he’s finally going to take what he wants, when he wants it. He needs it right now like he needs the air to breath.

When he passes through the threshold of the main entrance and enters Arkham he reaches the reception desk, states his name and who he’s here to visit, receives a widened stare and mumbled ‘please take a seat’ though he doesn’t, he can’t possibly to sit so still, not with so much nervous energy running through him.

Ten minutes later he’s being led to a secure, private room, because Bruce hadn’t been above using his billionaire status to obtain some privacy, he certainly wouldn’t appreciate Arkham security having a front row view. The doctor in charge had tried to argue with him about his own safety being alone with a dangerous criminal, he’d almost laughed in her face, because she couldn’t know, that’s exactly what Bruce wanted, to be alone with Jerome, to ask, to plead with him to make Bruce feel something, anything but hollow, despondent and dead inside. 

Jerome set that spark of life aflame within him.

The room he enters is gloomy with dark grey walls, faded dark blue carpet and dusty barred windows, there’s a faded navy couch covered with a clean lighter blue throw and a small table with a vase holding little plastic flowers inside, an attempt to make the room appear welcoming, not a great one though. Bruce thinks as he leans his back against the wall facing the door.

Waiting, waiting, waiting for them to lead Jerome through the labyrinth of halls, he wonders if they told him beforehand about having a visitor.

The room smells musty, unused and perhaps it was only in use today because he’d demanded it, he can taste the lingering dust as he takes a breath. How could anyone get better in a place like this? 

He can hear voices beyond the door and his heart begins to thump as Jerome’s rough voice drifts through into hearing range, he’s saying something crass to the doctor, they haven’t told him who his visitor is apparently, perhaps they thought it would ignite his need for violence if they told him, Bruce pushes away from the wall, his limbs trembling as the door opens and Jerome Valeska freezes in the threshold, his eyes zeroing in on Bruce.

He tilts his head to one side, a smirk stretching across his face as his eyes light up, the Doctor is saying something to Bruce about thirty minutes and she’ll check in, he waves her away rudely, he’s not usually so rude but, but Jerome is here and he needs, he needs...he needs to touch him, feel his body heat against his skin —the hollow within him cracks, splintering to pieces and he feels the sting in his eyes as tears gather, too much alcohol and lack of sleep causing the tight rein on his emotions to snap.

The doctor closes the door with a resounding click and one last worried look. Then Jerome is crossing the room and standing before him, cupping his cheeks with gentleness. “Baby doll?”he purrs peering into Bruce’s glossy eyes, his breathing has become erratic and a strangled sob rises in his throat, “What could have possibly happened to make you seek me out?”oh, he knows Bruce wouldn’t have come here unless there was a tipping point, he feels guilty and wants to tell him he would have come to visit eventually, under normal circumstances—but it would be a lie, completely sober and in control of himself, Bruce wouldn’t have come, even if he’d wanted to, he knows deep down, he wouldn’t have, not with everyone’s eyes constantly watching him.

“Jerome…”his voice is a broken whisper, he reaches out his hands, pulling at Jerome’s clothing, pulling him closer, closer until he pushes his lips roughly against Jerome’s scarred, stretched ones and sighs contented as fire sparks to life.

“Brucie, baby...tell me what’s wrong.”Jerome soothingly runs his finger through his hair, breaking the contact between them he leans back to look at Bruce, “are you lonely and breaking Brucie?”yes, yes he wants to say but the words are stuck, so he settles for a small incline of his head. Jerome hums as if he’s pleased with the answer. “Gorgeous boy, I wonder, do you think of me as much as I do you?”he runs a thumb down over his cheek and Bruce shivers.

“Yes.” All the time, everyday, every night, you haunt my dreams. He adds silently drawing closer to the redhead. “I…”his emotions are all bubbling to the surface at once, an overwhelming flood compared to the dead numbness.

“Shh, darlin’ it’s alright…”emotionally compromised as he was, another sob slips out and he feels the damn break, tears beginning to spill down over his cheeks, he leans his head against Jerome’s, languishing in the feel of his soothing strokes brushing away his tears.

Jerome presses closer, lifting his chin gently, then unexpectedly he runs his tongue slowly, licking the tear trails from one cheek and then the next before flashing a cheeky grin and licking his lips as if enjoying the taste of Bruce’s tears. 

“Darlin’ your sorrow tastes almost as good as your anger.”he chuckles. His thumb glides over the shape of Bruce’s lips. “What did you come here for Baby doll?” Jerome peers questioningly at him and he hesitates, searching for the words to convey exactly what he needs.

“I want...I want you to make me feel something, instead of nothing at all, I want you to make the pain go away.”he’s never been so brutally honest to anyone, not Alfred, not Selina, not even Jim Gordon. “I want to forget everything for just a little while.”his voice is hoarse as he lifts his eyes to meet the curious hazel gaze of Jerome. 

****

It’s as if all Jerome’s dreams and fantasies have come to fruition all at once as Bruce speaks such wonderful word, slipping past those beautiful bruise kissed lips, all these long, long boring weeks Bruce had resisted coming here to him, until something or someone had pushed him over the edge, Jerome was equal parts delighted and enraged that somewhere, something awful had transpired while he wasn’t around and someone had hurt his sweetheart.

It didn’t matter now though did it? because Bruce was here in Arkham, Bruce had demanded a private room for their visit as if such interaction between them had been his intention, Jerome licks his lips, he can still taste the salty tears he’d lovingly licked from Bruce’s cheeks, his fingers trail along Bruce’s jawline, he relishes in the sight of Bruce Wayne’s eyes fluttering shut, he’s pleased he’s a dominant thought in the billionaire boy’s mind especially since that delicious kiss in the car weeks ago, he shudders thinking about it.

Bruce wanted a distraction, but what he really wanted, what his words did not say but Jerome translated, was he longed to be accepted, understood by someone who wouldn’t judge him for his actions, for his darkest thoughts and desires, someone who accepted there was a darkness mixed in beneath his light. Bruce had felt Jerome was that person, it honestly thrilled the redhead immensely, the butterflies fluttering in the pit of his stomach go wild as Bruce pulls him in for another deep, demanding kiss. 

The taste of Bruce on his tongue is euphoric enough without feeling the state of his arousal protrude against his leg, setting him aflame all over again, he’s breathy as he’s overcome with the taste, the feel of Bruce pressing into him, drowning in all that Bruce Wayne incites in him, Jerome grasps his hips pulling him flush against his own arousal and groans into Bruce’s mouth, running his tongue over parting lips.

“I’m gonna make you forget sweet thing, I’ll wash away the pain and I promise, I’ll make you feel so, so good baby doll.”he murmurs meaning every word, and later, when he’s wiped away all traces of the pain engulfing his sweetheart, he’s going to find out who very nearly broke him, because if anyone was going to break apart Bruce Wayne, it was Jerome— he’ll break him slowly and sweetly and put him back together again and again and again.

No one else had that right.

Bruce tips his head back against the wall as Jerome’s hand slips behind the waistband of his pants, hissing in a breath as feels the hard, silky skin, he begins to stroke, slowly, softly in a gentle rhythm his eyes drinking in the sight of Bruce’s burning cheeks, his rapid breathing. He runs his tongue up along his neckline and Bruce hisses a sweet sound between his teeth, grinding into Jerome’s hand, harder, faster, wanting more, more, more and Jerome’s more than willing give it, because he’s addicted to Bruce Wayne and he needs his fix as much as Bruce does, so Jerome drinks in the feelings Bruce awakens within, he drinks and drowns and drinks and drowns again and again and again.

“Jerome…”their hands are touching and clawing and caressing and pushing each other so, so, close to the edge, only to draw back before they reach the peak, drawing it out longer, taking their sweet, sweet time to know the feel of one another.

Jerome is drunk on pleasure and pain as Bruce peppers kisses and scratches his nails down exposed skin, drawing hisses and moans from the redheads throat and Jerome wants more, more,more his body trembles as Bruce bites down on his shoulder, the sharp sting of skin breaking tips Jerome over the proverbial edge, he issues a sharp breath coming in Bruce soft, silky hand, moments later Bruce reaches his peak crying out Jerome’s name like prayer and they lean into one another a panting mess of sweat, come and the blood from Jerome’s shoulder.

Jerome breathes in the scent of Bruce as the brunette reaches for a tissue from a box, Jerome hadn’t noticed on the small table and wipes the blood from his shoulder with a wince.

“I hurt you, I’m sorry.”Bruce peppers kisses over the bite marks in a way of apology and Jerome shrugs with a chuckle, drinking in the sight of Bruce Wayne’s blood tinted lips, it’s devastatingly sexy. 

“I hope it scars,”he says drawing Bruce’s gaze, “so I can remember this moment whenever I see it.”he means it, glad Bruce marked him up. “Feel better?”he wipes a thumb over the blood coating his lips almost swooning, his dark prince is perfect.

“ I wish I could stay longer...the doctor will be back soon.”he looks dejected at the thought, Jerome brushes his cheek with a hand.

He’s not quite ready for the moment to end either, not ready to watch Bruce Wayne leave.

“It won’t be long precious, I’ll come see you soon.”he promises because how could he stay away now? Bruce searches his face as if looking for the truth behind his words, leading Jerome to wonder how many people had lied and broken promises to the prince of Gotham, for him to be so uncertain of Jerome’s word. He holds his chin between his fingers looking into those dark swirling eyes, “nothing and no one could stand in the way of me coming to you.” Relief floods his features, finally believing Jerome.

Bruce twitches, pulling away slightly, his gaze travelling to his pocket, his phone is buzzing away angrily, he pulls it free to glance at the caller ID, whatever he sees causes him to frown. Before he places the phone on the table and turns his full attention back to Jerome.

“Do you need anything? I can send you anything you need.”He eagerly waits for Jerome to answer, the phone begins to vibrate again but Bruce ignores it. “I can bring you some reading material maybe.”he chews his bottom lip, the action entrancing Jerome, he wants to pin that bottom lip between his own teeth and do it for him.

He laughs, “reading? Really, sweetheart do I look like a bookworm to you?”He's quite serious but his tone is teasing.

Bruce issues a small laugh, he loves Bruce’s laugh, Jerome wants to make him laugh more often so he can hear it over and over again. “No, I guess not...is there anything you need?”

Jerome is thoughtful for a few moments, he doesn’t really need anything and honestly if he did, he could acquire it quite easily by himself, but a gift from Bruce would be something to cherish, something for Jerome to look at whenever loneliness set in or his thoughts turned to the brunette.

Finally he decides what Bruce could procure for him, since he had Tetch plant the diary he had in Jeremiah’s bunker. “A journal.” 

Bruce offers him a startled look, “you like to keep 

a journal?”disbelief lines his voice and he laughs softly again, it illuminates his face, brightens his dark eyes— Jerome could get lost in those deep pools, just as he could bask in Bruce’s soft laugher.

He draws Bruce closer, flush against one another as he gazes into his dark eyes, oddly romantic, only Bruce Wayne could draw out such sentimental notions from a madman. He smirks at Bruce’s expression, “of course, how else would I remember all the schemes I dream up.” Laughter bubbles up in his throat, “can’t remember everything this old noodle cooks up.”he taps the side of his head and grins. 

“Ha ha, alright, I’ll purchase a new journal for you.”he promises as his phone buzzes angrily against the tabletop yet again, it’s starting to grate on Jerome’s nerves, he wonders who is so hellbent on stealing away his sweethearts attentions, he leans in to steal another kiss almost becoming dizzy when Bruce sighs contentedly, pulls away and tucks his head under Jerome’s chin as if memorising the feel of him before the doctor comes back.

Jerome slips his gaze to the phone on the table and his brows draw together as he tugs Bruce closer, Five missed calls from Jeremiah, interesting and extremely irritating, his heart flutters when he realises Bruce had known it was Jeremiah and he’d willingly ignored the calls to focus his attentions on Jerome.

His body heats and he thinks, with a small amount of surprise that he might be a little bit in love with Bruce Wayne, his darlin’ sweetheart who came all the way to Arkham, who bribed the good doctor for a private visit so he could claim Jerome and mark him up as his own. 

He’ll treasure the mark on his shoulder forever.

“My brother desperately seeks your attention.”he murmurs against his ear.

“Hmm,”his voice is sluggish, relaxed, like he’s finally sated. “Whatever it is can wait.”he says dismissively and it pleases Jerome to no end, knowing he has Bruce’s full attention and the brunette has no interest in anyone else at this moment, it makes him feel warm and fluttery.

“Darlin’ do you want to tell me what drove you here?”he wants to know, needs to know what pushed Bruce so very, very close to breaking. With gentle fingers— he’s never been so gentle with anyone but he would be gentle for Bruce. Gentle when he needed it, rough when he needed it— he brushes aside stray hairs damp with sweat and meets dark eyes. 

“I’m...tired of being lied to, of being betrayed by people who say they're my friends, my family...I’m tired of fighting against what I want.”his gaze is so intense, dark eyes like burning embers. It takes Jerome’s breath away. He tucks away the information that it’s the people close to Bruce who have hurt him, he wonders who it was; Jim Gordon perhaps? not the butler, Jerome had seen how dedicated the man was to Gotham’s prince, the girl then, what was her name...Selina? He briefly fantasies about teaching her a lesson, he thinks of pulling off her fingernails one by one so she understands the pain she caused his boy, but no, Bruce wouldn’t want that, no matter how much she or anyone else hurt him, Bruce was too decent to hurt the people who in turn caused him pain, too good, too light and Jerome wouldn’t risk breaking the steadily strengthening bond between them.

Bruce had come to him today for comfort, come to him broken and numb, pleading for Jerome to put him back together, to fix him, to make him feel again. And Jerome wanted Bruce to come to him again and again and again.

“What is it you want Bruce?”The brunette doesn’t answer, his cheeks flame and Jerome raises a brow at his embarrassment, so he repeats the question tenderly, trailing his fingers along his jaw, “What is it you want Bruce?”There's a flash of emotion in his gaze, there for a second, gone in a flash, but Jerome caught it and he knows what Bruce Wayne wants, what he fights with himself over...but Jerome wants to hear him say it, no, needs to hear him say it.

The minutes drag on in silence before Bruce pins him with those dark flaming eyes and says in a quiet whisper, “you...I want you Jerome.” His heart is galloping in his chest, in his throat, he’s never felt more alive than right now, in this moment with Bruce’s eyes burning into him, seeing him, not the madman image, not the scars that litter his face, just Jerome, the feelings such simple words stir in him are so intense, so overwhelming to keep himself grounded he crushes his lips against the brunettes. It’s rough, claiming, hot and messy but neither of them seem to mind, Jerome grasps Bruce by the hips, his grip tight. Peppering kisses down his neck, nipping with his teeth and sucking the skin between his lips, just below his collarbone he leaves little bruises, marking, claiming, so Bruce can look at them when he’s lonely, when he needs a reminder of these moments.

“You’re so fucking special baby doll, I’m gonna miss you.”Jerome croons, it’s the truth, “think of me when you’re lonely, when you need to touch yourself, to take the edge off.”he moves his lips to the brunettes ear, his voice is rough, husky, “and know that I’ll be thinking of you.”satisfaction fills him as Bruce melts into him with a small noise in his throat, his cheeks are so fucking flushed, so adoringly sexy. “My sweet, beautiful prince.”Jerome kisses him a final time because he can hear the clicking of the doctor's heels out in the hall, she’ll be here in moments. 

“Thank you.”Bruce breaths against his cheek, the clinking steps are closer now, the door handle rattles as Bruce whispers, before pulling away, “I’ll be thinking of you, until next time.”he’s being very bold but Jerome knows it’s a promise, next time he won’t be cooped up here, next time they’ll have more time, more delicious moments together. 

Jerome straightens placing distance between them, a lazy grin on his face, arms behind his back as the doctor enters the room, he tips an invisible hat and bows, all the while his eyes never flinching away from Bruce’s stare.

“Until next time.”he winks, stepping around the doctor, looking for the guards to return him to his cell.

****

Two days later he receives a parcel, according to his guard, hand delivered to the front gate with instruction to see it gets to Jerome Valeska right away. Jerome smiles knowing it must be from Bruce, the package is the shape and thickness of a shoebox wrapped in dark brown paper.

He’s quick to tear into it once the guard has left, his heart beating wildly as he lifts the lid of the box, inside sits a beautiful, dark leather bound journal, he whistles, it must have cost a pretty penny, he lifts it from its place on a silky cushion. He inspects it turning the book over in his hands and stills, on the front cover is his name stitched on with a golden thread, trembling fingers trail the stitching, he feel warm and fuzzy because no one has even given him such a gift before, a gift with so much thought put into it. 

There is a gold pen sitting inside the box, also engraved but with his initials this time. He can’t fight the wide smile that breaks out across his scarred face as he opens the journal to find one final gift, written on the first page in neat cursive, a message from Bruce, one that echoes a comment Jerome made weeks ago, while sitting in a car with Bruce.

_ Jerome,  _

_ I decided as you were so impressed with my car. I’d buy you something sleek, stylish and expensive with real leather...you know, the works. Some might say a diarist’s wet dream...The pen is a bonus gift for keeping your promise and helping me to forget. _

_ Until next time, _

_ BW. _

Jerome’s rip-roaring laughter rings out along the corridor of his wing as he reads Bruce's message again. If anyone were to spy through the hatch in his cell door at this moment, the sight that would greet them would be that of Jerome Valeska, madman, dangerous criminal, terroriser of Gotham City clutching a leather bound journal to his chest with a ridiculously lovesick smile plastered on his face.


	4. Chapter four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jerome surprises Bruce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the longish wait. Please note this chapter contains sexual references, romantic gestures and a good dollop of valeyne goodness.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy!

  
Bruce is working to keep his breathing even, under control, his fingers twitch, itching to reach out, drawn to run his fingers through Jerome’s flaming hair, he can’t see a thing blindfolded as he is, but he’s sure Jerome lingers somewhere ahead of him, laughing at him.

“Ah, ah, ah...no touching, no peeping, baby doll.” or Bruce is wrong because Jerome’s husky voice murmurs from behind. He grumbles lowly, dropping his palm. There’s a featherlight brush against his cheek that leads to him to shiver and lean towards the contact, Jerome laughs quietly, “so impatient baby.” He hums in Bruce’s ear, “I told you I had a surprise for you.” yes, Jerome had mentioned that when he slunk into the manor scaring the life out of Bruce while urging the brunette drop everything he was doing, which wasn’t anything important anyhow, and coming with him because Jerome had announced in all his dramatic grandeur, he had a surprise for waiting for him. 

Bruce just isn’t convinced he was going to appreciate the surprise, and he is feeling slightly anxious about what might constitute a surprise in Jerome’s twisted vision. He just hopes, one) it doesn’t involve Jerome taking hostages and two) it would involve no torture or death. Hostages and dead bodies were obvious mood killers, and the way Jerome’s touches were electrifying him while blindfolded Bruce wasn’t positive he could conduct himself once he was confident they were alone.

“Where are we going?” his tone hoarse as Jerome’s proceeds to caress his cheeks, the sensation increased by Bruce being unable to see. Bruce thinks, as Jerome’s fingers curl around his upper arms, guiding his route, what if this might actually be the redhead's attempt at romancing him.

His heart skips a beat at the thought.

Sounds invade his hearing, the sound of hasty footsteps and muffled voices louder to his ears than expected suddenly fall to a sudden hush, accompanied by louder, quick scraping footsteps fading off into the distance, as if Jerome has instructed them to take off with just a glance. Ah, his followers, most likely, even though Bruce wonders why they’ve been here and what they’ve been preparing.

One of the initial reasons Bruce hadn’t expected to see Jerome was because even though he’d escaped Arkham, yet again. There were no news reports disclosing that information, no GCPD roaming downtown streets searching for a maniac, just like the day Jerome had crept up on Bruce at Jeremiah's bunker, he’d slithered out, for a few hours simply to later slip back inside. 

Not that he wasn’t thrilled to see him, because he certainly was… he misses him the more time they spend together. 

And it wasn’t like they hadn’t met each other over the last few weeks, since Bruce’s initial visit to Arkham, the brunette has made it a routine weekly occurrence, to Alfred’s dismay when he’d realized where Bruce was slipping off to. They weren’t on the best of terms following a fairly heated exchange, Bruce declined to have anyone dictate to him who he saw in his spare time. 

Alfred, he felt, would be fine... once the shock wore off. He might never be okay with Bruce’s choice, but he would forgive Bruce enough to sequence more than a few clipped words together.

He hopes so anyway. 

The blindfold is drawn aside from his eyes, “ta-da, whaddya think?” Bruce is speechless as his eyes drink in the sight of what he understands is a deserted warehouse transformed. His breath hitches as he looks to Jerome, feeling touched at the gesture.

Feeling ridiculously flustered and emotional.

“You made all this for me?” he can’t entirely believe the surrounding sight, the dirty broken windows have been covered over with boards to prevent the early evening light seeping in, and allow the collection of garden lanterns, tall, short, spherical, square and some formed with coloured glass gleaming in greens, blues, lilacs, oranges and crimsons, into the space. Others were like metal lanterns with pictures etched into the surfaces, that reflected onto the walls and fluttered in the glimmering candlelight—reminding Bruce of shadow puppets—the serene illumination casts a warm, pleasant radiance. There is a small metal patio bench with clawed feet and fairy lights twined around the legs, glinting, two chairs tucked beneath the table with a maroon cloth hung over it. On the table-top is a buffet of little snacks all prepared on paper plates, two paper cups and another candle resting in the centre.

Bruce can see Jerome has given a lot of thought, effort and hard work into the gesture. He touched and warmed and, and, and he feels so special right now. He feels Jerome come behind him, propping his chin on Bruce’s shoulder with a brief press of his lips to his cheek. “Do you like it?” he repeats, sounding almost apprehensive.

His heart drums away—speeding up as the minutes pass by—he wants to kiss Jerome so reverently right now.

Brice twists around to face him, meeting his gaze and is astonished to notice a hint of colour as if he’s blushing, it’s adorable, it’s sexy as hell and Bruce leans in to capture his mouth, “it’s perfect, thank you.” It is, and he needs to draw in all the little details to seal it to his memory. He takes Jerome by the hand yanking him along to the little table.

The spread is nothing fancy; but it’s perfect. Bruce thinks he might very well melt into a puddle; it’s the sweetest thing anybody had ever produced for him. He can’t help the beam that takes over his face as he approaches a chair at the table, his dark eyes trailing Jerome as he sits opposite. 

“I love what you’ve done with the place, what’s the occasion?” he inquires, reaching forward to snatch a grape from a little dish. He inserts it between his teeth, following Jerome’s eyes as they lower to his mouth hungrily and Bruce, feeling a flash of boldness, sucks it from between his teeth into his mouth slowly. Watching Jerome’s expression cloud, his lips part. It was a pleasant change, Bruce thinks, being away from the visiting room of Arkham Asylum with no space or privacy to spend together. “Are you okay?” Jerome blinks, eyes rising from his mouth and a mischievous glint enters his eyes as he smirks.

“Are you trying to entice me Darlin’?” heat spreads across Bruce’s cheeks, embarrassed at being called out on his little display of brazenness. He smiles despite feeling like he’s naked on the spot, lowering his eyelids before he pins Jerome with an intense look.

“We should make the most of what time we have.” he responds with a sweet curl of his lips, it’s all Jerome’s needs, he’s out of his seat and hauling Bruce to stand, curving an arm around Bruce’s middle pulling him tighter, claiming his lips in a deep kiss, Bruce’s toes curls as he feels Jerome arousal nudge his leg. Warm lips trail his jaw. A sharp hiss slips free at the feel of heated kisses trailing his collar, having yearned for this time, this moment together for weeks Bruce thinks he might drown in each new sensation Jerome is arousing from him, that he’d slipped from Arkham tonight to set up a little love nest in a deserted building, spoke volumes to Bruce, he’s never been filled with so much fervour before, never could he have suspected Jerome capable of such tenderness.

“I want to spoil you, make you feel good, baby doll,” his breath catches in his throat at the words murmured in his ear, “see you fall to pieces under me.” he feels —heat rise to his face, as Jerome’s words curl around him, he feels a mixture of embarrassment and desire scorching his veins. 

Bruce casts his mind back to the efforts Jerome has plied into creating a little hideaway just for them, out of Arkham’s dull visiting room, he thinks of every moment between them since Bruce broke his rules, the light he sometimes glimpses behind those hazel eyes, the emotions Jerome brings to life within him chasing away that numbness, his fear of what people might say falls away, it doesn’t matter anymore, not to Bruce, for the first time in a long, long while Bruce has felt happiness kindle within. 

Jerome makes him happy, makes him feel special... chases away the horrors that constantly seem to torment him. this is nice, time together to openly enjoy each other's company. A slight noise rises in his throat as Jerome skims his teeth over his collarbone, illicting tiny shock waves of desire surging through his body down, down, down into a pool of warm heat, Bruce twists their positions, shifting around Jerome, pinning him down onto their little nest of blankets, he takes in the sight; Jerome’s breathing hurried and rough, his pupils blown as he gazes up at him—lips separated.

He’s breathless at the sight. 

He leans in to capture those beautifully bruise kissed lips, tugging with his teeth, god, he loves hearing Jerome groan… he wants, he craves to make Jerome feel wonderful tonight, he invariably went above and beyond to make Bruce feel so good, help him forget, to feel the things only Jerome could kindle in him. And hadn’t he gone to such lengths to ensure tonight was special? He draws his lips across his jaw, showering kisses over his scars, trailing them down his neck, across his collar bone marking a line down, down, down over his chest, skimming across exposed nipples.

He can’t recall ever feeling so much intensity for one person, so much want, such desire and passion and… and… love? Is that what the feeling bursting within him is, love? Pale fingers mark the course over Jerome’s midsection, grazing over the sure evidence of Jerome’s arousal—his dark eyes cataloging the magnificent vision of his companion's rosy cheeks, parted lips. With trembling hands Bruce palms Jerome’s hard silky skin. The redheads hiss of ratification is all Bruce needs to hear as he drags out his gratification. He wants Jerome to feel as special as he makes Bruce feel—Jerome fists a hand into his hair, panting as he trembles under the brunette’s touch, he hums as he glides his curled palm over Jerome’s dick in a steady rhythm, “fuck... Bruce...you’re so fucking special.” his words are enough to send Bruce over the brink he’s balancing on. His fingers rake down Jerome's thigh as he surrenders a moan building in his throat. This, all of this seems so right, so perfect, everything about them looks to fit together like pieces of the same puzzle. Bruce’s heart thumps wildly as he feels Jerome reach his climax. Spilling onto his abdomen, exhaling a contented murmur. Bruce leans away hovering above him, relishing in the sight of Jerome’s flushing face, eyelids heavy.

He loves Jerome, he realises, but he doesn’t want to reveal it yet not when they’re both tangled within the delirium of passion, he wants Jerome to understand, to know he means it—without the excitement, the desire, the lust encapsulating them. He desires the occasion to be comfortable and mellow and perfect... Bruce wishes to stare into his eyes, wants Jerome to understand he means it and it’s not because they’ve been hot and heavy.

“Who knew you were such a romantic.” Bruce chuckles, dipping down to kiss his lips.

“If there’s one thing I’m excellent at, sweet thing, it’s putting on a spectacular show.” Bruce barks a laugh, spluttering when Jerome flips their positions so Bruce is peering up at him now. He leans to nip at the brunettes' earlobe—he shivers beneath him, gasping when his teeth press a little harder—he nips a pathway along his neck, over his shoulders, across his chest, his tongue darting a route further down; over his stomach, his abdomen... Bruce’s heart is thumping so rapidly now, his body burning hotter and hotter.

“Jerome…” he exhales as he feels Jerome take his hardness into his mouth. It’s hot and wet and so, so wonderful that his breath rushes from him, his head tilts back against the blankets, he’s not even certain what cries are spilling from his mouth as Jerome’s tongue runs along his dick, he tenses, relaxes, tenses, relaxes as the sensations overwhelm him.

They’d never progressed further than kissing and touching and biting and rubbing. This... the sensitivities of Jerome’s hot mouth wet upon his delicate skin is driving him to frenzy—he’s so, so, so warm... burning hotter and hotter. His fingers curve in the blankets as the pleasure explodes throughout his body—he pants and whines, tenses, relaxes, tenses, relaxes. Each flick of his tongue firing a jolt straight through Bruce causing his toes to curl, he rasps out a strangled tone, “I... I’m... close.” His hips buck as his climax sends a wave of intense shivery heat through his frame—I love you, the words are of the tip of his tongue, he’s overcome by feelings of bliss, he catches himself and sighs contented, gratified, his heart expanding with so many, many emotions. Jerome pulls away—bracing his hands either side of Bruce’s head, staring down at him with blazing hazel eyes.

“Darlin’ you’re gorgeous all flushed pretty pink.” Bruce drags him down for a deep kiss, his arms coiling around the redhead as Jerome lies beside him drawing circles on his exposed chest.

“I... I’ve never…” he’s embarrassed as he hedges on, “I’ve never... gone all the way.” he chokes out, feeling his cheeks heat. But he needs to open up, be honest because he’s not certain he’s ready to experience everything.

Jerome’s eyes gleam with understanding and Bruce feels foolish for fretting, “Bruce, baby…” he stokes a finger along his cheek, “we’ll take it as slow as you want—there’s plenty of way to make you feel so good without full sex.” he’s relieved and reeling at how a lunatic like Jerome could be so, so tender, sweet... understanding. Or perhaps it was solely because it was Bruce. He smiles kissing his wrist because he’s too relaxed to shift an inch and catch Jerome's lips.

“Thank you, for this, for everything.” he twines their fingers together, twisting to meet Jerome as he settles beside him. “You realize...you could come home with me, not return to Arkham…” Bruce trails off feeling ridiculous for disclosing his thoughts, he shouldn’t be encouraging Jerome to break out and remain with him, Jerome was in Arkham to pay for his crimes—Bruce shouldn’t be so selfish—his needs...the desires that burn within him to have Jerome close we’re selfish, but he hates thinking about him stuck in that hideous place.

Jerome flashes him a lazy smile, “not yet, as tempting as the offer is—there are some loose ends that need tying.” Bruce frowns, he doesn’t like the sound of that—he wonder’s what Jerome is referring to—although Jeremiah’s name echoes in his mind, and he speculates if Jerome means to confront his twin, the problem Bruce finds is that he’s in love with one twin and good friends with the other.

“What does that mean?” he braces himself up, eyes wandering over Jerome’s face. Bruce’s catches an abrupt flash across his face, a look he can’t identify. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” dark eyes scrutinize the redheads face, Bruce needs some reassurance that Jerome isn’t plotting something stupid... he can’t bear if something happened to him.

Jerome grins darting forward to kiss Bruce, perhaps as a means of diversion, it’s working too because Bruce can’t seem to think straight when Jerome seems more than capable of reducing him to a puddle. “That’s not fair.” he murmurs against Jerome's mouth, “you did that on purpose.”

A laugh rumbles in Jerome’s throat, “as if I would do such a thing, baby doll.” he bites down on his lower lips and Bruce groans melting against his chest, “it’s nearly time, gotta slip back into Arkham soon.” he runs a finger along Bruce’s face, the brunette nuzzles into the stroke.

“Please don’t do anything reckless.” His plea is soft, imploring as Bruce dots kisses along Jerome’s collar, impulse prompts him to suck at the skin above his shoulder—marking Jerome with a little bruise—he’s rewarded with a note of delighted surprise bubbling from the redheads mouth. “To remind you you’re not alone... not any more.” is all Bruce whispers against his earlobe.

“Bruce... baby,” hazel eyes are teeming with affection, Bruce feels almost dizzy staring into them. His heart flutters when Jerome returns the action taking his delicate skin into his mouth, sucking and nibbling, marking him in return. “I’ll find you when it’s over.” Bruce doesn’t know what he means, not absolutely. But he feels—he’s positive, whatever Jerome wanted with Jeremiah is not altogether settled and knowing Jerome as he does, Bruce knows if he remains close to Jeremiah, he might successfully be capable to intervene and put an end to whatever Jerome has planned—because something is telling him Jeremiah is central to whatever Jerome wants to see to an end.

Not if I locate you first, he thinks but replies, “alright... just promise me you’ll be careful.”

Jerome grins, broad and impish, placing a palm over his heart, “I solemnly vow to be careful.” he kisses Bruce again and laughs, “I wouldn’t wish to risk your wrath now would I?” his teasing draws a small laugh from the brunette, and he whacks his shoulder.

“I’m not joking, Jerome.”

Something about the look Jerome gives him causes Bruce’s heart to stutter, “I know darlin’, I know.” there’s a peculiar foreboding feeling in the pit of Bruce’s gut, as if a shadow is lurking over them.

X

Hidden from sight across from the buildings exit an onlooker waits, having followed Bruce Wayne’s movements for the last few weeks, noting nothing out of the ordinary until, that is today when. Lifting a camera in one hand the spectator snaps a few shots of the young couple pressed up against one another by Bruce’s car in a somewhat compromising position. It seems Bruce Wayne has a secret—one that their boss will want to learn about. 

Satisfied with the visual evidence gathered, the shady figure leaves the scene to report back to their employer.

Leaving the lovers unaware they’d been observed.


End file.
